“HURRY, MY LOVE! I can hear them!”The lady’s hoarse shout can hardly be heard amidst the heavy pouring of the rain. The trail they were braving through was slick and muddy from the torrential rain that has been ravaging the land for days, and their old horse, stolen from the stable they chanced upon, could barely keep up with the speed they need.The man with the reins clenched his jaw, tightening his hold on the ropes. He and the lady have been on the run for several days now, and their pursuers have caught up with them. He was physically exhausted, but his resolve was as strong as it has been since they began to run; as strong as it was on the day he met and loved her.He could feel the lady trembling, her lithe body pressed against his back, her dainty arms wrapped around his waist. He knew she was strong; had known it since the day he looked into her defiant eyes. But she, like him, was tired. Not just physically, but ment
THE rain was pouring hard on the stone roof of the Tower the day that King Alaric of Vrasambail, the Third of His Name, died. It was early in the morning, barely a quarter after the eight hour, and Prince Archer, the eldest born of the King and the long-dead Good Queen Amarantha, was alone reading in his chambers in what is commonly referred to as the Tower but in actuality was the residence of the royal family of Vrasambail when Lucius, the King’s squire, brought him the dire news. “My Lord,” the 15-year old stocky lad with a mop of brown hair began after a cursory bow, “the King had passed in his sleep. Elder Anselm sent me to let you know.” The scripture of the kingdom’s mountain clans that the prince had been reading fell to the floor. With the King having been in a sickly disposition for several months now, he had thought that perhaps the pain of his passing would be significantly lesser than it would have been had the death been a compl
“THE coronation shall take place a moon’s turn from now, my Prince.” Elder Gieronymus, a formidable man of sixty, gray-haired and sharp-eyed, announced at the council table. The King’s funeral procession took place two days prior. “As per your wishes, the preparations for your crowning were set aside to make way for the funeral of the late King Alaric. The lords from the faraway territories who arrived for the funeral have opted to stay and wait for the coronation, while those whose castles are nearby have returned to their lands, and shall be back in time for the big event. We have sent word to our allied kingdoms, and they shall be present, as well.” Elder Hildegarde spoke. “Your marriage to Lady Cecily is another matter of concern, my Lord. My family thinks it may be wise for it to take place the same time as the coronation. What better time than when the whole kingdom is present?” Prince Archer was looking at the window as he quiet
INSTEAD of summoning Lady Cecily to the palace, Prince Archer decided to pay her a visit at her family’s castle. After asking his squire, fourteen year old Ernest, to saddle his horse, he went straight to the castle with the boy and three of his best guards.When Godfrey, the curly-haired steward of the castle, saw him, he dropped to his knees. “My King Archer.”He smiled fondly at the man who had been witness to his and Cecily’s childhood plays and whims, back when it was his father, the now-deceased Hubert, who was the steward of the house. “Not quite yet, Godfrey. Get up, and do tell me where I can find the Lady Cecily.”Godfrey hastened to his feet. “She is in the gardens near the fountain, my Lord, with the Lady Anthea. Shall I fetch her for you?”“No, no. Let me go to her.” Gesturing to Ernest and his guards to follow, he walked to the lush gardens to find his betrothed.
WHEN the three royal siblings, Archer, Agatha, and Madeleine were but children, it was the middle-born princess who always got into trouble with their mother and father, and with the stewards and maids of the Tower. She was always naughty and unruly; forever making the servants chase after her; acting in a way that some might consider unbecoming of a royal princess.But Archer, having known the princess since the moment she came out of their mother’s womb, always suspected that it was because Agatha often felt left out and disregarded by the king and the queen. Archer, being the heir to the throne, had been the focal point of King Alaric’s attention and mentorship from the day he was born. On the other hand, Princess Madeleine, being the youngest of the brood, was adored and doted on by their mother up until the good queen died. Princess Agatha, despite her tough exterior and mischievous deeds, has a soft and sensitive heart begging to be loved an
If Princess Agatha were fire, the Princess Madeleine was ice. That was what Archer had always thought about his two younger sisters while they were growing up. That was what was running through his mind as he walked to the Tower’s library, where he was told Princess Madeleine was. He wondered what she would say once he told her of his plans. Would she be understanding, as Lady Cecily was? Would she be as angry as Agatha? “Archer?” his sister’s soft voice interrupted his thoughts. There, in the velvet cushion by the large glass window, sat Princess Madeleine, the youngest of all three children of King Alaric and Queen Amarantha. She was wearing a blue silk gown with long sleeves that covered her arms, her straight black hair in a neat braid perched on her right shoulder, its color a stark contrast to the lightness of her gown. She was lithe where he and Agatha were broad, small in stature where her two elder siblings were tall. She was
The sun was barely up by the time Prince Archer and his 14-year-old squire Ernest started their journey by the edge of the Forest. They were riding horses side by side; the prince riding his trustworthy chestnut-colored stead, while Ernest is on a black horse lent to him by his father. They were both wearing simple garments, and both carrying swords. Archer could tell that the boy was nervous. It was, after all, his first time to join in a trip to the Forest that may last for weeks. The lack of guards to accompany them seemed to be adding up to the boy’s fear. “Are you alright there, Ernest?” he asked the squire kindly, looking over at him. The boy nodded his head, his black hair falling on his eyes. “Yes, my Lord.” “Theobald, remember? You must remember to call me that,” he reminded Ernest. It was what they had agreed on. The prince will go by the name of Theobald, while the squire will retain his name. They would introduce themselves as bro
THE SMOKE was coming from a bonfire outside a small brick cottage. The house was surrounded by different plants of varying colors and sizes. Prince Archer hopped down from the horse, and helped his squire get off the animal, gently holding his arms, avoiding his festered wound as to not cause him any more pain. Letting the boy lean on him for balance, he called out. “Is anyone there? Can anyone help us?” He heard shuffling from the inside of the tiny house, and small, quiet steps followed. An old woman peered from the door, her eyebrows furrowed, trying to see who was calling. Archer slowly walked towards the woman, his left arm across Ernest’s waist. “Please, help us. My brother is wounded, and he is becoming weaker. We need a healer. Please help us.” Peering over them thoughtfully, the woman gestured to the house. “Get him inside, and fast.” ONCE inside, the prince looked for a place to sit Er